


Out of My Mind

by Caitybug



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Body Swap, Communication, I named her natasha for Reasons, Life Changes, M/M, Older SnowBaz, but I make it silly, carry on exchange, graphic depictions of checking in on each other, married snowbaz, sry, there's some Spice in chapter 2, they've got a kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug
Summary: Baz and Simon are living their lives, domestic and content. They have a nine-year-old daughter, a Sunday morning routine, and plans to be alone for the first time for a while.But with a girl who is growing into her powers reads something she shouldn't, they get into a predicament they don't expect.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 26
Kudos: 130
Collections: Carry On Fall Exchange 2020





	1. Swap Meat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/gifts).



> Shoutout to the group of people who I made read this in order to make sure I was doing body swap alright. 
> 
> [Amy](tumblr.com/blog/amywaterwings)  
> [Liz](tumblr.com/blog/foolofabookwyrm)  
> [Nena](tumblr.com/blog/ninemagicks)  
> [Seb](tumblr.com/blog/pipsqueakparker)
> 
> Everyone go give [Kris](tumblr.com/blog/krisrix) some love, bc he deserves it.
> 
> I also made a playlist! Feel free to check it out [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2TPSSavyS4W0JKnUh2BP8r?si=UfmMzYPATVGUuZOBbxm3qw)

Baz

Simon and I are in our mid-morning Sunday routine. 

He stands on one side of the bed, folding our clothes; I’m at the other, folding Natasha’s. 

She sits on the floor, reading a book she found on my shelf, mouthing to herself. 

I hear the soft noise of the television playing from the other room.

“Natasha,” I say, looking at her chosen spot on our floor. She’s got the pillows from our bed surrounding her, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she reads the book. “Can you turn off the television?”

She frowns.

“I wasn’t the one who turned it on,” she argues, staring at Simon. 

I look up and raise an eyebrow at Snow, who is focusing more on the pair of trousers he’s currently folding than responding to us. 

“Do you mind?” I ask her again. “Your father here is in the middle of folding my trousers, and he needs all the concentration in the world to do so properly.”

He hits me in the face with a sock.

I hear Natasha get up and walk out of the room with a groan as Simon and I fall into a fit of laughter.

“Twat,” he mutters, trying to make sure our daughter doesn’t hear us. 

It’s nice, these moments. 

My stomach clenches, however. It knows I’m avoiding something. I’m avoiding _talking._

I just want to do it when there’s no risk of being interrupted. When there isn’t a risk of tiny ears overhearing before a decision is made. 

I hear a car horn from the road and jump. It shouldn’t have frightened me, I’m just nervous. 

I move to close the window, trying to keep any distractions out of the way.

I’ve got to talk to him today, tell him what’s going on. I’ve kept it to myself for too long already. 

I hear the click of the television from the other room, enveloping our flat in silence. 

Simon lets out a deep sigh. 

Simon

I’ve been folding this pair of trousers for too long. 

My heart is racing, skin buzzing.

_He has to know._

I look up at him and see him frowning at the window. He moves to close it.

I’d argue with him but it’s the least of my problems right now.

(Although I’m hot, and it’s actually cool outside today.)

No sense in bringing up old arguments, however. 

Natasha is in the other room, turning off the telly. (I guess I forgot to. Nerves are high, I suppose.) Fiona is going to be picking her up for the afternoon, leaving Baz and I alone to…

Well. 

I _assume_ we’ll do what we can with a child-free home. But also, I hope we talk. 

I’ve been avoiding it. Talking, that is. We’ve been so much better about it as we’ve aged. We communicate more and are more open and honest about our feelings.

But this… this is different.

This is new. (In a way.)

I didn’t think it was going to happen. It’s been years. Nearly two decades, at this point. 

Natasha waltzes back into the room, smirking at me and taking her spot on the floor while she picks up her book. 

She’s a sight, truly. I’m not sure how we ended up so lucky with her. 

She looks like Baz, mostly. 

She’s got the smirk, the raised eyebrow, the wit and charm of him. Natasha feels like fire, just like her father. 

(I didn’t feel that for the longest time. I just believed Penny and Baz when they said she felt like a fire mage.) 

But recently…

I’m picking up more and more of that. The way a room feels when Baz casts a spell. How Penelope’s magic feels when she spelled away my wings before I left her place last weekend. 

I hadn’t felt that in a long time. 

Baz goes back to folding Natasha’s clothes, and I smile at her and wink. 

I’m not sure how, but she’s also got bits of me too. 

We used a surrogate, both giving _donations_ (it was weird, clinical, but worth it even on the worst days of being a parent), not wanting, or caring, who the _technical_ birth father was. We didn’t care if she was magical like Baz, or even part dragon. 

(She’s not, thankfully. Part dragon, that is. I wouldn’t be surprised if she ever breathed fire, though.)

She’s got freckles, much like my own. Her hair is the same color as mine, too. Same texture as Baz’s, soft and shiny, but bronze like my own. 

Her magic, too. 

It’s crazy strong. _Too strong._

There have been times where Baz and I have wondered… have thought.

But there’s no way.

I’m not magic anymore.

(Well, _maybe._ )

Besides, she takes after him. I’m not sure _why_ she has my qualities too. Even her personality is like mine in some ways. She loves food just as much as I do, but loves reading like Baz. 

She knows her way around a football pitch, but can also pick up a sword and spar with me.

At nine years old, I just can’t believe it.

We’ve got two years until she starts school at Watford, and I can’t stop myself from feeling emotional about it. Not that Baz and I won’t do well in the house alone, it’ll just feel… less.

Less lively.

Less noisy.

Less like a _family_ lives here.

I realized a few weeks ago, when we were all in the living room. Natasha was sitting between Baz’s legs on the floor as he braided her hair for her match that morning. She was decked out in a kit, tossing the ball back and forth between her hands, rambling about a French assignment she’d been given. 

I couldn’t help but think.

_What if we had another?_

“Snow?” Baz says, interrupting my thoughts.

(My thoughts about _him_ , which is the ironic part. He managed to interrupt my thoughts about him.)

I guess Baz would be the only one who could interrupt something about himself.

“Yeah?” I respond, giving up on the pair of trousers. 

“I was thinking we could get something special for lunch,” he continues, not commenting on the fact that I dropped a pair of his favorite trousers onto the floor. It lies on the ground in a heap, mocking me. “Craving anything?”

My heart jumps and I look at the time.

_11:15._

It’s getting close. Fiona was planning to pick Natasha up at noon. 

“Curry?” I suggest. My stomach gurgles quietly at the question, begging for him to agree.

He laughs and nods. 

We don’t get it very often anymore. With having a 9-year-old in the house, our main diet has consisted of chicken nuggets in the shape of various dinosaurs or other creatures.

(Not that I’ve minded.)

(She also enjoys sour cherry scones, so it’s a fully balanced diet.)

“Ew,” Natasha says from her nest. 

“You’ll change your tone one day, little puff,” Baz says. “Much like your father here, I’m sure you’ll come to love any and all foods as you grow.”

Baz

I watched Simon drop my trousers on the floor, moving instead to a pair of pants.

(It seems to be going easier for him, at least.)

I check the time on my phone and see a message.

_Fiona._

“I’m sure this is a text from her, letting us know she’ll be late,” I state, rolling my eyes. 

Simon picks the trousers off the floor to fold them again. This time, he gets it quickly and easily. 

_Simon Snow, undefeated by even the nicest of trousers._

I look at the message.

_**(11:16) Hello Basil, something came up and I can’t take Tasha for the afternoon. Raincheck?** _

I sigh.

“Bad news, Natasha,” I say, dropping the phone on the bed and putting her folded clothes in a basket, ready to be moved to her dresser. “Aunt Fi isn’t going to be picking you up.”

She groans.

“Why?” She drops the book in her lap and looks up at me with big eyes.

She was really looking forward to it. A day out with Aunt Fiona. They were probably planning trouble. 

But they would have loved it. 

There was another message sitting unread on my phone. I chose to ignore it, pretending it simply didn’t exist. 

_I need to talk to Simon._

“What if we all had lunch together, then?” Simon offers. 

The suggestion quickly turns into groaning from Natasha, who refuses to eat curry.

“ _It smells!”_ she states, not for the first time in her young life. 

“ _Everything smells!”_ Simon shouts back. 

I think he takes her distaste of curry personally. 

At the end of the argument (if that’s what it’s called) we decide on Chinese. Natasha, in a haze of MSG and carbs, falls asleep on the couch to a movie that I don’t quite pay attention to.

“Did she say anything about when she’d come by again?” Simon asks quietly as we clear plates. “I know how much it means to Natasha when she comes by.”

“Not yet, but I hope soon.”

_I don’t know how much longer I can wait to tell you._

Simon hums in acknowledgement, rinsing dishes. I open the dishwasher, slipping the ones he hands me into the open slots.

When I close the door, turning it on to wash, I look up and see how tired Simon looks.

It’s a busy time for us both. Work is picking up for me, and Simon too. I worry neither of us are getting the amount of sleep we need. I’ll often get up at night and see his side of the bed empty. (It’s almost always to piss.) But maybe he’s got some things plaguing his mind too. 

I pull him close, putting my head on top of his.

“Maybe Daphne can take her for an afternoon,” I whisper, trailing my fingers up and down his back. “Then it can just be the two of us for a bit.”

Simon sighs, slotting perfectly into me. 

“Knowing your stepmother, it’ll become a sleepover,” he mumbles.

“Doesn’t sound half bad to me,” I laugh. He kisses my chest through my shirt.

I hear footsteps run down the hallway, but I don’t let him go.

_Just one more second._

“Our daughter is awake,” Simon whispers, kissing my shoulder. “We should probably check on her.”

“She’s self-sufficient. I’m sure she’ll find something to do.”

I want to revel in this now, while I still can.

I don’t know _why_ I’m afraid. He’s supportive, and kind, and may even want to join me.

But…

Being the headmaster at Watford is a big deal. Something I’ve wanted for _ages._

And Simon is Normal. He needs help getting through the gate. Simon Snow, once the most powerful mage alive, doesn’t have a drop of magic anymore.

I’m afraid it might hurt him. I can tell he’s sad about the reality of Natasha leaving in a couple of years.

What if I left too?

I know I need to _talk_ to him. I need to lay it on the table.

We’ve been through worse.

“Baz, can we both take tomorrow off?”

I lean back, lowering my hands on his waist. 

“You want to play _hooky_ with me, Snow?” I can’t help the smirk that plays on my lips. “What would our bosses say?”

Simon shrugs.

“Who cares. We need a day off. Let’s take Natasha to school and come home and get back into our pyjamas.”

I kiss his forehead.

“Who needs pyjamas, Snow, when we’ll have the flat to ourselves.”

His cheeks go red. (Even after all these years he blushes like it’s still the beginning. Like this isn’t something _normal_ to us.)

I hear footsteps run back to the couch.

“I grabbed another book!” she shouts from the living room.

I hum in response, not paying it much mind.

“We could eat breakfast in bed,” I whisper, not wanting Natasha to hear. “Maybe we could get Daphne or Fiona to pick her up from school too, make a whole day of it.”

His eyes light up and a smile stretches wide on his face.

I lean down to kiss him.

“I love you.”

He hums against my lips.

We don’t _always_ say those three words. Often it’s said through actions, the words falling in between.

When he makes me lunch for work, and puts a note inside of it. 

When I fix his shoes, or rub his feet.

When we crawl into bed, exhausted from the day, but happy to have each other, we kiss, and whisper, and talk about the things we only do while we’re alone.

I hear noise from the other room but pay it no attention.

We have a plan. We’re going to have time, just the two of us, to talk.

My heart pounds in my chest, reminding myself that it still pumps, that I’m still _partly_ alive. 

(Anxiety reminds you of that, I guess.)

_Time to face the music, Basil._

We kiss again and let out a sigh in unison.

_Time to be parents._

Something happens, however, as we move through the kitchen. My head spins for a minute, so I pinch my eyes closed, bracing for whatever new bodily ailment is rearing its ugly head. (Is it vertigo this time? What new thing will the 30’s bring me today?)

I expect Simon to say something, but I feel him still too.

I feel like the whole room is spinning., like I might fall over.

But then, it just stops. 

It’s abrupt and I sway on the spot.

I feel Simon behind me.

(Maybe I did spin; I think he was in front of me mere moments before.)

“I think I need a moment,” I say, pinching my nose.

I hear Simon grunt. It sounds different than normal, but I pay it no mind. 

_What the fuck is happening to my head?_

Simon

I’m not sure what just happened, but my head finally feels like it’s screwed back on right. 

I wonder, briefly, if the feeling is because of my magic. 

(Are you back for real? Don’t tease me, I’m fragile and can’t handle giving my hopes up.)

I see Natasha whispering under her breath, looking at a book from Baz’s shelf. The candle in front of her lights and goes out.

“Be careful,” I say as I pass.

Her eyes go wide and she slams the book closed.

“Sorry!”

I frown. 

I’m not used to fear in her eyes when she sees me coming.

“It’ll be our little secret,” I say, giving her a wink.

She gives me an odd look but hesitantly picks the book up again.

I rub my hand over my face and frown.

_My nose feels different._

I must need sleep. I’m going slowly insane. Even the world seems lower now.

I get to the bathroom and have to reach down more than normal to grab the handle. 

I close the door behind me softly, worrying what anything louder might do to my head. 

I turn on the light and splash water in my face, trying my hardest to shake off whatever feeling this is. I glance up for a moment and back down to turn off the sink.

_Wait._

_Did I just see..._

I look back up at the mirror, thinking it must have been a mistake. 

Shoulder length black hair, grey eyes, strong jawline, and the crooked nose of the man I punched in the face back when we were in school.

_Baz._

Why am I seeing Baz looking back at me?

My heart rate rises.

_Am I dreaming?_

I pinch myself, harder than necessary, but done for good measure. 

“Ow,” I mutter, rubbing my arm.

_Alright, not dreaming then._

I touch the mirror, as if it'll change to normal with a tap. That maybe it’s simply on the wrong channel.

I hear the door open and close abruptly. 

When I turn I see a face I know all too well. Curls stand up in different directions after I pulled them through my fingers for hours debating and arguing with myself. Broad shoulders squared away, almost prepared for a fight. And a face that… well… doesn’t typically look like my face.

_Is this what I look like when I try to imitate Baz?_

“Er-”

“Simon, what the fuck happened?” He (me?) growls through his teeth. 

I get a headache just from thinking about whether I should call this person in front of me he or me. (Is it me? Am I in an alternate universe? Maybe there are multiple versions of me here. Natasha and I watched a Spider-Man movie the other night about that…)

“Crowley, wipe that look off my face,” he says. (Yeah, I’ll just say him. My brain might fry if I call him me.) “Simon. It’s me.”

His eyebrows rise, like he expects me to get it. (I didn’t know my eyebrows could do that.)

I frown.

“Snow, we’ve switched bodies,” he mutters. “It’s me you twit. Baz. Your husband.”

I blink.

He stares at me, clearly frustrated that it’s taking me so long to catch up. I look at the mirror, seeing his face (my face now, I suppose) looking back at me. 

I shake my head and turn back to Baz.

“How? Why?” I ask.

I’m still not convinced this isn’t a dream. That it’s not some weird concoction of stress, Chinese, and possibly a fever. 

“I don’t know,” he hisses through his teeth, “but we have to figure out how to get past Natasha before she notices something is up.”

It’s the afternoon, certainly it won’t take us that much longer. I can pretend to be Baz, right?

I raise one eyebrow in an attempt to play the part, crossing my arms and trying to look down at him. When I open my mouth he hits my arm.

“Don’t be an idiot, Snow.” He opens the door. “I’ll text Daphne and see if she can take her for the night. You just try to be normal.”

He stomps back to our room, where his phone lies. 

It’s then that my mind catches up.

“Ba-Love,” I shout, correcting myself mid-word. “I think I may know what happened.”

Natasha sits in the other room, and I can still hear whispers. I can feel warmth in the air-- _fire._

It smells like smoke and my mouth tastes like brownies. 

I’ve learned (recently, that is) this is what her magic is like. Fire and baked goods. It leaves a scorch, but makes you feel warm, like you’re under a soft blanket. 

It feels stronger, more potent right now. I’m not sure if it’s because of _her_ magic, or the magic currently inside me. 

(Inside of Baz, I guess.)

Baz sticks his head out of the bedroom.

(I wonder if he can sense it. If he can feel any of the magic coming back under my skin. Or if it’s only in my head, made up of wishful thinking and dreams I gave up on years ago.)

I wave him over. He follows, walking more gracefully in my body than I’ve ever managed. I notice that my hair has already been smoothed back. When he comes closer I raise an eyebrow and look at it.

“Your hair was bothering me,” he states defensively. “A little product won’t hurt you.”

I frown.

“Do you wish I put product in my hair?”

Baz frowns back, looking up at me like I’m an idiot.

“No,” he says simply. “I love your hair how it is. It’s me who needs it tamed back.”

I smile, relieved, and lean down to kiss him. 

It’s nice, leaning down to kiss him for once. (Three inches feels different from up here.)

I grab his hand and pull him to the corner where the hall meets the living room, pointing around the corner.

When he looks, seeing Natasha with a book in her hand, his eyes go wide.

He opens his mouth, and I know he’s about to yell at her, so I put my hand over it, muffling him quickly. 

I hear the book slam shut.

“Simon,” Baz hisses, “we have to do something.”

“Yes, but I’m sure she didn’t _mean_ to. She’s just reading a book.” I shrug.

“She _shouldn’t_ be reading _that_ book. She knows be-”

“She probably didn’t realize. Let’s just correct the behavior, and figure out what spell she cast.”

I walk around the corner to see Natasha’s big smile looking up at us. She’s got the book in her lap. The candles on the coffee table are all lit in front of her. 

“Be a dear and put those out, won’t you?” I ask. 

I’m trying to sound posh, like Baz. But judging by the snort that comes from behind me, I didn’t succeed. 

“ _ **Make a wish**_.” She smiles gleefully when they all go out.

Sometimes her abilities are scary. Baz is proud, willing, and helpful in teaching her. I’m thankful she has him to guide her.

(I wonder what I’d be like today if I had someone like him to teach me.)

“Can we see the book you were reading, please?” I ask, leaning down. 

She hands it over; I pass the book to Baz without a glance. He’ll know what it is, whether it contains anything too serious. 

“Did you cast any other spells?”

She shakes her head.

I remember hearing the whispers.

“Were you reading out loud?” I ask.

Typically she doesn’t read spells out loud. She knows better. But she could have been reading to herself, not realizing something was a spell.

(Or worse, she put magic behind a phrase that wasn’t _supposed_ to have magic behind it.)

(Much like me during my Watford days.)

I pray, for a moment, that if my magic is returning it doesn’t go back to what it was. I’d prefer no explosions in a home with our family.

She nods her head finally.

“Not the spells though.”

I sigh, looking back to Baz. He’s flipping through pages, trying to find an answer. 

“Your father and I are going to have a talk. Can you find a book that’s a little less magickal, please?” 

She nods frantically and runs to the shelves. 

Baz and I sit on the couch, his eyes still searching the pages of the book for the spell. 

“She’s not going to remember what she said,” I mutter, running my hand through my (Baz’s) hair. It feels odd when my hands slip through it easily. No curls or tangles catching on my fingertips. “We’re going to be scouring that book all night.”

Baz sighs.

“Better get comfortable, then,” he says, pulling his feet up and opening to the first page. 

I’m suddenly grateful we decided to take tomorrow off work.


	2. You're the Ultimate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bathroom wanks, booty calls, and horrible puns.
> 
> Baz and Simon are trying to figure out how to fix their problem before Natasha realizes.

Simon

Baz is with Natasha, taking her to school.

Somehow we made it through the evening without giving too much away. (The trick was to keep me away as long as possible.)

Though I stand by the fact that Baz isn’t _great_ at pretending to be me. 

(He shrugged too often, tripped himself too many times, and didn’t even _eat_ a scone.)

I shake my head, moving to the bedroom to gather a change of clothes. 

Daphne is going to pick Natasha up from school, giving us a day to figure it out. 

Figure _this_ out. Whatever we’ve gotten ourselves into this time.

I’m hoping we can. 

I thought we were done with the adventures. We have day jobs, bedtime routines, a _child_. 

Where does _swap bodies with your spouse_ fit into our domestic lives?

Last night, Baz read the entire book we found Natasha with, and couldn’t figure out what she may have read out loud. Every spell in the book was fairly innocent. There’s _**Make a wish**_ , _**Kiss it better**_ , and even _**Stay put**_. Nothing that should have caused us to switch bodies. 

We’ve both taken off work today, so we have time to find a fix. To reverse this spell, before anything bad happens. Before our employers find out, or Natasha figures out what has happened. 

We debated telling her for a while, but decided not to worry her. She didn’t do it on _purpose_. She’s _just_ a child. 

(But if we can’t get it figured out within the day, we _are_ going to talk with her, and figure out what she did.)

I gather clothes and move to the bathroom to wash up and try my best to do Baz’s hair the way he likes. 

(He’s got so many posh products. It drives me mad.)

I look wistfully at my two bottles in the corner, wishing I could use them instead. 

He walked me through his routine, threatening me within an inch of my life to not mess it up. 

(They work just fine on me.)

Today wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were going to get pastries from down the road. Take a nap.

(Do _more_ than nap.)

Part of me wonders if the latter is off the table still. I can’t imagine it’d feel _normal_. 

But I mean…

_How often do we get the opportunity?_

I rub shampoo in my hair, feeling how soft it is. 

Baz’s hair has always been soft. (I guess his routine could be why.) It feels weird, touching it from this angle. I twist my fingers in it for a moment, seeing how it feels to him when I tug and pull on him.

(Alright, not bad.)

It’s also weird, touching his body like this, cleaning it from the night prior. My hands rubbing soap on his chest, touching him all over. Usually when I do stuff like this it’s for reasons that are a little more…

_Fuck_.

Warmth pools in my abdomen, and I can feel what is starting to happen. What my mind has _erected_ , per se. 

This is why I don’t let myself think.

_Thinking is what gets us into trouble._

I ponder what I might do. There’s the obvious decision here, something that will solve this _problem_ fairly quickly. (I assume quickly, at least. We’ve been together for more of our lives than we haven’t, so I’ve figured him out mostly. I know how to take this body over the brink as quickly or as slowly as needed.)

(Somehow that line of thought only makes my problem worse.)

_It’s not like I’ve never done this to him before_. 

I’ve touched, fucked, held, anything else we could imagine at this point. We’re not bashful in the bedroom, not after all this time. 

But it feels different, like this. 

I try to think of it as a simple shower wank. Make it feel more like it’s me, eyes closed and water washing any evidence down the drain. 

I reach down, wrapping my hand around…

_No this is wrong_.

It feels wrong, like I’m taking advantage. (Is that what it would be when you are married?) I feel like he’d need to give me permission. I need his graces before I just do _that_ to him. 

I sigh, picking up the bottle of conditioner. 

_“It has to sit for at least three to five minutes, Simon_ ,” he said. 

I finish the rest of the shower, trying to ignore the _problem_ , hoping Baz gets home soon. Whether that’s to take care of _it_ , to let _me_ take care of it, or to call me a dunce, I’m not sure. 

My brain thinks for a moment about him taking care of it.

(I swear it short circuits.)

I step out of the shower, mind still dizzy, thinking about Baz. What this morning _should_ have been. 

Seeing my reflection in the mirror doesn’t help. Baz’s face, clearly aroused, water dripping down his (my) chest.

_Fuck_.

I try not to look down further but...well.

He’s always been hard for me to ignore, hasn’t he? Why should now be any different?

I grab my phone quickly and open up our messages, steam still enveloping me from the shower.

Baz

I hear my mobile go off as I get out of the car. 

**(8:34) Can I wank?**

I blink.

_What the fuck did he just ask?_

**_(8:35) When has my permission ever stopped you?_ **

He’s never _asked_ to wank before. 

(Well… there was that one time. But that was an experiment in will. A new try for us as we explored each other.)

_I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hot_. 

(Maybe we should try that again… once all of _this_ is fixed.)

I walk the hall, nearing our flat, trying to figure out _why_ he’s texting me like this at 8:30 in the morning, when it dawns on me.

_We are switched._

Simon just asked if he could wank _me_.

(I’m not sure _why_ but I feel my cheeks start to get warmer.)

Is this what it’s like to be Simon Snow? Constantly warm and blushing? 

(I can’t stop picturing him touching himself.)

Touching _me_. 

I open the door and softly close it, trying my hardest to listen for it. For him. (For me?) 

The lack of vampire hearing has me damned, however. 

I open my mouth to call for him but close it quickly instead, thinking better of it. 

What do I think I’m going to _do_ if I find him anyway? 

Will I help him?

(Sucking my own prick would definitely be a new experience.)

I see light pouring from the crack under the bathroom door. Pressing my ear against it, I listen.

“ _Fuck_ ,” I hear him say. 

My eyes go wide.

_Alright then, this is happening_.

I place my hand on the doorknob, taking a deep breath to ready myself. I twist at the exact moment that he _comes to fruition_. 

I see my face twisting in the mirror, hear the sounds coming from my mouth as he comes in his hand.

(Crowley, is that _really_ what I sound like when I orgasm?)

I fold my arms and lean against the doorframe, waiting for him to realize I’m here.

He’s panting, cleaning himself off, not noticing my presence. 

“You’re going to need another shower,” I state finally.

He jumps, eyes wide and looking at me in horror.

“I-er-hey,” he stammers. 

It’s not a good look on me.

“Do get yourself together, Snow,” I say, turning around. “I’d prefer to be _in_ my body the next time you do that.”

I don’t look back to see his face, but I’m hoping the point landed.

_Crowley, I hope we get this fixed soon._

________________________________

Simon

Baz and I are on the sofa. He’s got the book in his lap, flipping through the pages. I’ve got my mobile in my hand, Penelope’s shrill voice is blaring through the speaker.

“I wish I could say I was surprised by this,” she lectures. “But, frankly, this is probably one of the tamer events that has happened between the two of you.”

Baz and I glance at each other, a thousand words left in the air. Memories that we’ve worked through and have grown from. 

Me, at the bottom of the stairs.

Him, in the catacombs.

“Look,” I interrupt, trying to keep the conversation on target. “Do you have any ideas that might help us?”

I shift on the sofa, trying to get comfortable.

“Can you move a bit?” I whisper to Baz, putting my hand over the receiver. “I’ve no room.”

His legs are so fucking _long._

He looks up at me with a devilish grin, and it takes everything in me to not groan loudly into the phone, potentially deafening Penelope.

He stretches out further, pushing on my legs, forcing them to squish closer to my body. 

My face goes through several emotions at once, probably making me look like a maniac. (Well, definitely making me look like a maniac, judging by the way Baz is looking at me right now.)

I frown— then I realize that I am _Baz_ right now. Baz. Ruthless, strong, posh, Baz. 

I raise an eyebrow easily (maybe I just have fewer facial muscles?) and smirk. 

_I think he forgets who has the vampire strength here._

I drop the phone to the ground, forgotten as I attack my prey. Baz’s eyes go wide (my eyes really _are_ blue. I’m not sure why I hadn’t seen that before.) and he drops the book in a yelp as I grab him, pulling him forward into my lap. 

We end up with his head on my shoulder, arms draped over the end of the sofa, book in front of him, and laying on his stomach against my chest. 

Wings are draped over us both. 

(It’s odd, being on this side of it.)

I grab the phone again, but Penelope is silently looking through her books, trying to find an answer on a page she may have forgotten about. (She never does though. Forget, that is.)

“How’s your back?” I whisper in his ear. I’ve got the phone on speaker and set on his bum.

(I laughed a bit at that. _Booty call._ )

“Hmm?” Baz hums, flipping another page loudly behind my head. 

“Your back? The wings?” I lean back to look up at him. He looks more than a little perturbed, obviously not wanting to stop reading. “I know you’re not used to them, so I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He frowns at a page before looking down at me.

I think, for a moment, that he’s upset with me for asking. But his eyebrows relax and his face goes soft.

“I’m not sure how you deal with them every day,” he responds. “No wonder you’re always fumbling around.” 

I roll my eyes. 

He smirks and returns to his book, but I feel something crawl against my leg. 

I almost jump, not realizing what it was. But then I smile, realizing it’s the tail. (My tail.)

I kiss his cheek before checking in on Penelope. 

“Simon!” she shouts.

I swear she can read my mind sometimes. Even after all these years. 

“Simon, she’s like you!” she shouts again. 

I grab the phone off Baz’s arse to bring it closer.

“Yeah?” 

I’m confused. I can’t hide it. I just hope she explains soon. 

“Her _magic_ , Simon,” she continues.

There’s a pause. Baz sits up and looks at the phone.

“Crowley, you’re so thick sometimes,” she sighs. “Remember in school how uncontrollable your magic was? You could say something and your magic would just… _do it_.”

My eyes go wide.

I don’t want that life for her. It’s stressful and too much, and she’s _nine years old._

Panic starts to set in.

We knew she was powerful but…we didn’t think she’d end up like _me._

(I thought she got Baz’s genes?)

“We’ve kept close watch, Bunce,” Baz says.

(It’s weird hearing my voice say Bunce.)

“I know, Basil, but you have to admit that _something_ happened. That girl of yours is still part Simon. She has his hair, his shoulders, even his freckles. And you can see it in the way her magic works. How it _smells_.”

We share another glance.

I know how her magic smells now. Even more the past day since I’ve been Baz.

I wonder if _he_ notices, however. If he notices that he can still sense it, even in my _Normal_ body.

Baz

Bunce is right. Natasha is as much Simon’s daughter as she is mine. I’m not sure _how_.

I’m sure I could figure it out. But I’ve already got a migraine headed my way the size of a meteor, so I’d rather save myself the trouble for the time being. 

Simon sits up and I have to try to not fall off. I don’t think he’s used to the strength yet. And I’m _definitely_ not used to the wings and tail. 

I noticed the tail wrapped around Simon’s leg earlier. I never believed him when he said he never consciously did it. But it seems I owe him an apology. I didn’t tell it to move, it simply _did._

It knew I was thinking of him. Of being close.

(Closer.)

“So you’re saying she could have just said something flippantly, and cast a spell without realizing it?”

His eyes are wide. I’ve never seen so much expression on my face. I can see forehead creases and emotion clear as day. 

“That’s _exactly_ what I’m saying, Simon.”

He grabs the book from my hands and starts to scan. I watch, waiting for him to find what could have caused it.

“Bunce.” I grab the mobile from Simon, leaning back so I’m sitting again. “Even if that’s the case, how could we get it fixed?”

I hear the flip of a page as Simon continues. I give him a look and he shrugs.

(I’ll be glad to never see myself do _that_ ever again.)

“You could get her to say it again?” Bunce suggests. After a pause she sighs. “But she’s young. There’s no telling if she could replicate it. Even at Simon’s best, he couldn’t control how things went.” 

I look up and see Simon wincing, trying not to acknowledge what she just said. 

“Well, Bunce, thank you for your time. We will call you if we have anything else we need.”

She could stay, but I know Simon. He can’t be doing well. 

She hangs up and I tap his knee.

He doesn’t acknowledge it.

(Must be bad.)

“Simon,” I say, hoping that gets his attention.

_Nothing._

“This isn’t your fault, Simon.”

He looks up and I can see his eyes swimming with tears. 

“How do you know?” 

It’s pained, filled with years of trauma and fear. Fear that he would hurt someone, trauma of it being used as a weapon. 

Of _him_ being used as a weapon. 

I grab the book, placing it on the back of the sofa, opened to the page so he doesn’t lose track, and pull him closer. 

“Simon, you did nothing wrong. She’s going to be okay.”

“Baz-my magic-”

“Simon, your magic could have been better if you’d had someone to _help_ you. So that’s what we will do. Me and you. We will teach her and help her through this, so she can be successful. So she can be as brave, kind, and absolutely fierce as her father.”

I lean forward and kiss his forehead. I almost forget that it should feel weird. That I’m kissing _my_ forehead instead of his. That there aren’t curls tickling my nose, or warm skin under my own. 

(His skin feels nice and cool against mine. I want to wrap myself up in it.)

I kiss him softly, telling him that I love him. That he is good. That he hasn’t caused hurt, or suffering. 

The book sits forgotten as we get lost in each other, forgetting that anything has been switched.

Because, at the end of the day, it’s still me.

And it’s still him.

No matter what form we take, or how many times we switch. It’ll always be us.

_______________________________________

Simon

Baz and I are in the kitchen making dinner. Daphne is keeping Natasha for the night (we knew she would), so we have more time to figure _this_ out.

My phone pings and I grab it, seeing the notification from Penelope.

“Maybe she has an answer,” I state, swiping to open it. 

_**(19:34) Shepard says that the solution could be like some movie he watched.** _

“Or, maybe she doesn’t.”

A second later the phone rings.

“I was about to-”

“Freaky Friday!” Shepard shouts. 

I look at the caller ID, which reads Penelope. 

“Shepard?”

“Yes! Who else would it be?”

“You’re on Penelope’s mobile-”

“I know, but it was urgent.” I can feel his energy through the phone. Somehow it calms me, even now. “Have you ever seen the movie Freaky Friday?” 

“Er-” I never know how to respond to these questions. I missed a lot of pop culture when I was a child. I’ve caught up on some, but not all of them.

“Original or Lindsay Lohan version?” Baz asks behind me. 

I frown at him. 

He mouths the word _sister_ as Shepard continues.

“Doesn’t matter, really. The concept is the same.”

He goes on to explain the premise, that they switched because of a spell, and could only switch back when they learned to love each other. When they learned to listen and love who each other was inside, instead of with expectations. 

That maybe there’s a personal reason behind all of this. 

Baz and I look at each other, a boiling pot of water between us on the stovetop. 

Pasta tonight. We’ve got everything here that nine-year-olds detest. Mushrooms, cheese that isn’t orange, peppers, sausage, even… _spinach._

I’m sure Natasha would be turning her nose up by the smell _alone._

We hang up on Shepard and take seats at the table. 

We’re both thinking the same thing. I know it. I can see it on his face. We’ve already _done_ all of that. We realized how much we loved each other (well, I did. Baz _pined_.) (His words, not mine.)

I love him.

So much.

I know his flaws, his darkest points, and I love him because and for it all.

_So why the fuck would this spell latch on to something personal? What are we doing wrong here?_

_Is there even a solution?_

Baz

I pick at the food in front of me, thinking deeply. My stomach is growling, begging for food, but I can’t seem to focus long enough to eat it. 

_What did Shepard mean?_

Simon and I love each other.

I loved Simon even when he was my enemy, when he was destined to kill me. 

What part of _that_ makes us vulnerable to this? 

Is there something we are doing wrong?

Or is this something worse…

Something that _can’t be fixed?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to check me out on [Tumblr](tumblr.com/blog/caitybuglove23)


	3. Back in My Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication, small details, and a change back.
> 
> Simon and Baz finally talk about what they need to.

Simon

Baz and I are getting ready for bed. Well, _I’m_ in bed, he keeps knocking things over with his wings, not used to them and the chaos they ensue.

(It’s entertaining, at least. Maybe he’ll have a bit more sympathy for me moving forward.)

I can’t shake this feeling in my gut.

Not just an emotional one, but a _physical_ one. 

“Baz,” I say, shifting in bed. I’m wearing his stupid posh pyjamas because I feel absolutely frigid. “I don’t feel well.”

He’s struggling with a shirt, trying to get it on just right, before he gives up.

I’m always too hot if I sleep in a shirt anyway, so he’ll be fine.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, moving to the bed.

I rub my stomach and frown. I feel hungry- but different. I know I didn’t eat as much as usual for dinner, but I didn’t _want_ any more. What the fuck-

“Oh.” He jumps out of bed, rushing out of the room. The tail knocks against the door, causing a chunk of wood to fly off.

“Oh?” I shout. “You can’t just leave in a hurry with as vague a response as _oh_!”

He doesn’t respond, and I’m about to get up and follow him when he reappears with a mug in his hands. 

I raise an eyebrow (I’ll do this as often as I can now that I’m able. I’ll wrinkle his forehead if needed) and am confused until he thrusts it into my hands.

It’s warm, providing a comfort I hadn’t expected. It’s deep red, clearly thick and-

_Oh._

“I forgot, I’m sorry,” Baz whispers. 

I shrug, lifting the mug up to my lips. “You’ve got the wings and tail, I’ve got the blood. We match.” I flash him a smile, feeling the fangs starting to drop at the smell of blood. 

The first gulp I swallow is odd. It’s thicker than water, but not so thick that it’s hard to swallow. I’ve never drank blood before. (Almost did, once. I accidentally picked up the wrong mug thinking it was my cup of tea. Baz intercepted, telling me to pay closer attention.) 

The second gulp is quickly followed by a third, a fourth. The empty feeling in my stomach is dissipating, feeling satiated. 

When I finish, I stare down at the remnants. A ring of red lines the top, bits of what I just drank staining the mug.

I think back to what Penelope was saying earlier. How it’s a possibility Natasha’s magic is like mine.

I feel like I ruined her. 

“Simon?” I hear Baz whisper.

_And to think, I wanted a second child._

“Simon, are you okay? I’m sorry. I know it feels weird to drink but-”

“No-no,” I croak. “That’s fine.” I clear my throat. “I was thinking about something else.”

“Oh,” he responds. He grabs the mug and puts it on his nightstand. 

I must be bad if he isn’t insisting it be put away immediately. 

He kisses my shoulder, resting one of his hands behind my back. 

He’s waiting. He knows that poking and prodding doesn’t help. And I know that it doesn’t help to keep it in.

I was planning to talk to him.

Not like _this._

But, _eventually._

Preferably when I was back in my body, and not after I just guzzled a mug of pig’s blood. 

I breathe in deeply, letting myself gain confidence.

“I wanted to have another,” I whisper. 

Baz hums in question. 

_Oh right, he can’t hear me when I’m this quiet._

“Another child. I was going to ask you how you’d feel about having another.”

He sits up straighter. I risk a glance, afraid of what I might see. But when our eyes meet I see how soft his eyes have become. I think I see a tinge of excitement.

(Might be wishful thinking.)

“Why do you say that in past tense?” 

I frown.

“Well- we certainly shouldn’t _now_ , should we? Now that-” _fuck how do I say it without_ saying _it_? “-that we know my magic can still pass on.”

Good save. Better than saying _‘now that I’ve screwed it all up’_.

“So what?” Baz asks. My eyes go wide.

I can see him clearer. Must be vampire senses. Even in the dark, I can make every part of him out.

(Me out, I guess. I really am _covered_ in freckles. They stick out more now, I think.) (Maybe it’s just looking at them from a different perspective.)

“So what?” _He can’t be serious_. “How could I- knowing what could happen? What life I might be subjecting them to?”

“Simon this isn’t your fault!” he shouts.

He doesn’t often. I’m usually the one to shout. It makes me stop, eyes wide and waiting. 

“Simon, you haven’t tainted our child. You’ve done nothing wrong.” He’s softer this time, quieter. “Natasha is _loved_. By you, by me, regardless of what kind of magic she has. Fuck- regardless of _if_ she has magic.” 

He pulls me close to him by my arm. My torso twists awkwardly, but our foreheads touch and I don’t want to break this.

“I love her too, but-” I close my eyes, not wanting to see the way he looks at me. 

“And I would love to have another, Simon,” he interrupts. 

I open my eyes, searching his. I’m looking for something. A lie, perhaps. Maybe a sense that he’s bluffing.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything ever.”

He kisses me.

“Let’s have another.”

“Are you sure?” I whisper, kissing him again. 

“Of course.” He moves his hands up and down my arms. 

“What if they end up as ill-mannered and ill-tempered as me?”

“I’m counting on it.” He leans back and smiles up at me. “Also- have you met our daughter? If you think she doesn’t have your temper, you’re mistaken.”

I frown, but it quickly dissolves as Baz starts to laugh.

It feels good to get that off my chest. To hear he feels the same.

_Another kid_.

“Natasha is going to Watford soon too, so it’ll give her time to still get to know her sibling before she leaves.” I wrap my hands in his, smiling from ear to ear.

I look up. Baz wrinkles his nose, looking anywhere but my eyes.

“Speaking of Watford, I _also_ have something that’s been on my mind.”

I raise an eyebrow.

He hits me.

“Stop that. It’s utterly frustrating.”

“Now you know how it feels!” I laugh, kissing one of his hands. “Now, speak up. Apparently tonight is the night to get all of our shit out.”

He sighs.

I can hear his heartbeat quicken.

(Another vampire perk. I might miss it if we ever get this switch fixed. Being able to hear his heartbeat. The way it quickens when I get near. When I kiss his neck.)

Baz

Simon is staring at a spot on my collar bone. I’m not sure why he is, but I know I need to get this out.

What I’ve been offered, that is. 

Especially if we’re going to have another child. It’ll change things. It’ll change priorities and our family structure and-

_Deep breath_. 

“I’ve been offered a position.” I pause. I wonder briefly if I shouldn’t bring it up. Just quietly deny the offer and move forward with our lives. But I know he’d be upset. I’ve not been avoiding this because I think Simon wouldn’t support me.

I’ve been avoiding it because I think he _will_.

And what then? I go off to Watford? We do long distance marriage during the school term. I don’t get to see our children for _months_.

I could visit at weekends.

(Wouldn’t be the same. I’ve never wanted to be a long-distance parent.)

And then there’s my mother. 

Another Pitch in charge of Watford. While she was admired and adored by many, I know what her policies look like. How she excluded those deemed _less_.

I wonder all too often if Simon would have been allowed entrance to the school if she was still in charge.

I know there will be expectations of me. Both from the Old Families, trying to change the ways back to how they were, and from my peers. From the professors I had while in school who knew me both as a child, and the son of one of the fiercest mages they encountered.

_How on earth am I supposed to live up to that?_

_How do I both uphold and not rehash my mother’s legacy?_

“Mitali Bunce is stepping down as Headmistress of Watford. They want me to take her place.” 

I hold my breath, waiting for a response before I look up wearily, afraid of what I might see. 

Even when in my body, I can see Simon’s gears turning.

My heart is beating so hard I fear it might jump out of my body. 

I’m not used to feeling this _alive_. Simon’s heart jumps hard in his chest at any moment.

Out of fear.

Excitement.

When I go up and down the stairs.

When we-

“Wait- really?” he replies finally, pulling me out of my thoughts. His face is lit up with excitement. “Baz, that’s-” He pulls me close, my chin on his shoulder. “-that’s brilliant! You’re going to be amazing.”

_You’re going to be amazing_.

He didn’t even debate me accepting or not. To him it just _is_. 

He’s probably already picturing me in the robes walking the building, checking on Natasha when she starts school. 

He’s blabbering on and I squeeze him tighter. I can feel his confidence in me roll into my body, filling me up and consuming me.

He makes me second guess why I was scared in the first place.

“... and we can move closer to the school- I’m sure I can find work.”

I lean back and he pauses, looking worried.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’d move closer to Watford?” I’m not sure why, but my throat feels tight and my chest feels warm.

_Damn Simon Snow’s body and its constant physical reactions to emotions. Can’t I have a moment of peace without my heart racing or my skin flushing?_

He frowns. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”

I shrug. 

(Being in Simon’s body must really be wearing off on me.)

“Baz, of _course_ I’d move for you.” He kisses my forehead. “We are a family, and I want to. I want to be with you, to support you.”

I shrug again.

_Fuck._

Tears start to prickle the edges of my eyes.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

“I didn’t want to assume-”

“Assume away, Basil.” He kisses my nose. “This household will be a mess without you around. Natasha and I will let it fall to complete ruins. There will be butter on the walls, you’ll find shoes littered across the house, sheets won’t be-”

“Alright alright,” I interrupt, putting a hand over his mouth. “I’ve heard enough. Frankly, if anything, you make me wonder if I should leave at all.”

He pulls my hand away. “We’ll be just fine. It’ll be as if you never even left.”

I try to quirk an eyebrow up, but it doesn’t work. 

(Curse Snow and his less than ideal facial muscles.)

“So, it’s settled,” he says, leaning back against the pillows. “You’ll be in charge of Watford, we’ll move so we can stay together, _and_ we are going to start talking about having another child.”

I smile, brushing some of his hair from his face.

Despite the shower incident, he kept my hair routine the way I like it. (Except for the product at the end, but I won’t fight that battle.) I know he likes my hair loose around my face, natural and wavy, so I’ll allow him to live his dream now.

It’s interesting to watch the way we both care for each other while switched. How he dressed me the way he knows I like, that he asked me about my back and dealing with his wings. I avoided the foods that irritate his stomach, despite how desperately I’d have rather eaten the extra spicy dish for dinner. 

We’ve not been switched for long, but I’ve noticed it. The kindness we provide the other. The love we both give in small ways, just in the treatment of the body we are in. 

I feel Simon's tail wrap around my calf. (Well, _my_ tail wrapping around _Simon’s_ calf.) 

It feels like an anchor, grounding me through Simon. Despite big decisions happening while in bed, changing our whole lives in the span of one conversation, it doesn’t have to be overwhelming.

Because we'll have each other through it all. 

“We should probably have a talk with Natasha,” I mull, picking his hand back up in my own, playing with his fingers. “Especially if _this_ doesn’t get fixed.”

Simon nods.

“She’s back after school tomorrow. Daphne is going to take her and we are going to pick her up.”

He stretches.

“So, do we use this time getting more sleep, or do we stay up trying to find a way to fix this?” He looks up at me with large grey eyes. 

I know which option I _want_ to take.

But he sits up, pulling the blanket off and jumping out of bed.

I sigh, following him from the room.

I feel _naked._ Usually I’m wearing more clothes than this. But I can’t figure out his damn _shirt_ . It was easier this morning when I spelled his wings away.

_I should do that again._

I reach for my wand by the table and freeze.

_Wait…_

I think back to earlier- when I spelled the mug of blood warm.

I hadn’t thought about it.

It _felt_ like mine.

I squint up at Simon, curious.

Simon

“Simon?” Baz asks from behind me.

I’ve reached the kitchen, ready to make us both tea, when Baz stops.

He hands me his wand.

“You’re in my body, so it should work. You may as well use it while you still can.”

I grab it, feeling my anxiety heighten.

Baz’s heart beats slower, it’s hardly noticeable at times. But now I feel it pang in my chest, reminding me it’s there. 

_It’s been so long since I’ve properly done it_.

“I-uh,” I stumble, pointing it at a plate of scones on the counter, trying to remember the spell. _May as well try it on something low risk. “ **Some like it hot!**_ ”

The panic subsides as I feel my magic, warm and fiery, pour from me through the wand. The scones quickly begin to steam up.

I can feel the excitement in my chest and I turn to Baz, expecting to see a smile, but instead seeing a frown. 

“Is something wrong?” _Did I do it wrong? Have I set something on fire without realizing_?

“I didn’t think that would work,” he whispers. 

“What do you mean?”

“I spelled your wings away this morning,” Baz continues. “So I assumed my magic switched with me when we switched bodies. Since it’s an extension of us, our souls, our _hearts_.”

I blink. 

“My magic, when I cast this morning, felt like mine still. So I assumed-” He looks up at me. “Are you getting your magic back?”

My breath hitches.

_I forgot about that part_.

“I’ve been meaning to mention that.” I move to the kettle to make tea. “But, I wasn’t sure.” 

Baz moves, lifting himself onto the counter.

_Probably to make himself taller_. 

We sit in silence for a moment, the water starting to heat up, getting closer and closer to boiling. I try to figure out my words. 

I’m trying to channel Baz. I’m _him_ right now, so it can’t be too hard, right?

_Use your words, Simon_.

“I hadn’t actually _tried_. But I had been feeling something for a while.” I grab two mugs from the cabinet as I see the water getting close. It helps to keep my hands busy, keeps my brain occupied while I try to get out the _emotion_ part of the conversation. “I guess I was afraid.”

I was.

(Am.)

“Of?” he asks, grabbing two bags from beside him.

I sigh, pouring the now boiling water into the mugs.

“I was afraid it might not be real.” I pause, looking down, watching the way the tea turns the water brown. It swirls around as it spreads throughout the mug. “And afraid it _was_ coming back.”

Baz hops off the counter, wings nearly slapping me in the face. He wraps an arm around my waist.

It’s comfort, making me feel grounded.

“What if it comes back like last time?” I whisper. “I don’t-” I look over to him. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” It comes out soft, too soft perhaps. He doesn’t have vampire hearing now, he might miss it.

But the way he kisses my shoulder, how he looks at me with large blue eyes- I know he didn’t. 

He never really does.

He probably knew what I was going to say before I did. After all this time, he _knows_ me. 

He kisses my bicep. 

The way he touches me, looks at me, kisses me, is still him. Even with my lips, my eyes, my hands, he’s still him. He’s still Baz.

“You won’t hurt anyone,” he whispers, lips brushing the skin on my arm. 

I turn, wrapping my arms around his waist. He kisses my shoulder again, working over my collar bone. He quietly whispers a phrase over again.

_You are good_.

I close my eyes. 

_You are good_.

He kisses my jaw.

_You are good_.

My lips.

“I love you,” he says. He’s on his toes, leaning up to kiss me. “You are good. You are kind. And no matter what, you’re going to be okay. _We_ are going to be okay.”

We kiss for another few moments, and I let myself believe him. I let myself believe that this will be okay.

That even with my magic at its most volatile, uncontrollable self, I’m good. 

I grab our mugs, handing one to Baz.

“Table?” I ask. He nods his head and leads me out of the kitchen.

But then I feel it again.

The same dizzy out of body experience. 

I close my eyes, praying it ends soon, clutching the mug tight as if it’ll keep me from falling as the room spins around me.

Baz

_I might throw up_.

I thought I would handle it better this time. The switch. Turns out it’s even _worse_ the second time around.

Simon

I open my eyes and realize the world has grown. The door frame has gotten higher, my eyesight isn’t as crisp.

I turn around and see Baz behind me.

“Baz?” I ask.

_Did we fix it_?

He opens his eyes.

“Thank _Crowley_ ,” he whispers. 

I leap up in excitement, pulling him down into a kiss, putting my mug down with a loud _clunk_. Letting myself feel him around me.

_I missed this_.

I missed the way he feels when he lifts me up in an eager kiss.

The way his mouth tastes.

How his hair feels in my fingers.

“I guess Shepard was right,” I whisper against his lips. 

He hums in response.

“Seems proper communication is even more important than ever,” he laughs, trailing kisses down my neck.

He’s hitting my moles, counting them on the way to my collar bone. 

My tail wraps around his waist, pulling him close.

He picks me up, moving my tail to wrap around his wrist, my legs instinctively wrap around his waist, my fingers tangled in his hair. 

I don’t miss the way his eyes darken as he starts to move us to the bedroom.

But I can’t keep my mouth from moving, for some reason.

Baz

He’s talking.

I’m not sure why.

It’s our last night together without a child.

And we are _back_.

I can hear his heartbeat in his chest.

_I missed that sound_.

It gets faster every time I kiss this specific spot on his neck. When I put my hands under his arse.

“Baz, the tea-”

“Do shut up, Snow,” I interrupt, carrying him into the bedroom.

He must see it in my eyes because he closes his mouth, and lets me drop him onto the bed.

Simon

Fuck the tea.

Fuck _everything_.

Baz leans down, kissing down my chest.

My brain stops thinking, letting my body feel the way he moves, reacting to what he does. It only repeats one phrase. 

_I love him._

_I love him._

_I love him._

___________________________________________

Baz

In the morning, as we get dressed, we agree on a few things.

1\. To start planning (Simon jokingly called it _plotting_ but I nixed that immediately) our second child.

2\. Start looking for homes closer to Watford, find a _job_ for Simon. (Though, now that he’s got his magic back, I wonder if there may be

a position open at the school…)

3\. A new set of rules in place for Natasha.

That last one is the most important of them all.

With her magic developing we don’t want to risk her hurting herself or others with her magic. 

We aren’t _banning_ it. 

But we _are_ banning her from casually reading out loud. 

Only reading spells when one of us is there to monitor, to help contain or control, and to help teach her how to properly put magic behind her spells. 

To teach her the power behind the words she is saying. 

Simon walks over to his dresser, pulling his old wand out from his sock drawer.

He’s kept it after all these years, stowed away in a dusty box next to a handkerchief of mine.

(I pointedly don’t ask about the handkerchief.)

He’s going to learn how to control his magic.

I’m sure it’s not as explosive this time. 

If it were, I’m sure he’d have exploded the scones last night in the kitchen. 

(It would have been a nightmare. Cherries stuck to the walls for _weeks_ at least.)

He turns to face me, a weary smile on his face.

I walk closer, kissing his forehead. 

“It’s okay, love. It’s just a piece of wood at the end of the day. It won’t hurt you.”

He sighs, slipping it into his pocket.

“I’m not so sure about that.” He tosses his pyjama bottoms into the hamper. 

I know he’ll be hesitant for a while, but it _is_ exciting. I think he’s happy about it. 

Baby steps, though. 

He comes closer, smiling up at me.

I push back some of the curls hanging on his forehead. 

His eyes close and he leans into me, head against my chest.

We also made one last decision last night. In between the sheets, in hushed tones and loving glances.

To remember to have fun.

To live.

To love each other to the full extent we do and can.

Which means talking, silly nights alone, finding times to properly be intimate.

It might mean hiring a babysitter some nights, or letting Daphne or Fiona take parental responsibility for an evening. But it’ll be worth it.

We walk out of the room, determined to get started with our day.

(We are going to breakfast first, as a date.)

(It’s been so long since we’ve _dated_.)

“Ready?” Simon asks, grabbing his keys. 

I reach for his hand and nod.

We’ve a lot of _new_ coming our way. New positions, new family member, new magic.

But one thing that’ll never be new is the way I feel. The way _he_ feels.

And that’ll be what carries us through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and sticking with this story!! I hope you all (especially you, Kris) enjoy this. 
> 
> Have a wonderful day! And, if you'd like, check me out on 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to check me out on [Tumblr](tumblr.com/blog/caitybuglove23)


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